


Tights Mandatory

by abstractconcept



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Capsicoul - Freeform, Dirty Talk, M/M, PWP, Rimming, blowjob, bottom!Steve, cross-dressing, filthy idfic, very very PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:37:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve plays dress-up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tights Mandatory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FairyNiamh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyNiamh/gifts).



> This is just a pure, filthy id-fic for Fairyniamh for Christmas. No plot, no character exploration, no adherence to canon, just smutty smut smut.

Phil Coulson flicked off his office light just as Nick Fury rounded the corner. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going? I need those reports.”

“You’ll have them tomorrow,” Phil replied, pulling on his gloves. It was cold out and the roads were getting bad. “First thing in the morning. I have dinner waiting for me at home.”

“You have a pissed-off director waiting for you right here,” Fury replied, glowering. “I gotta talk to the counsel tonight, and I want to be able to tell them something.”

Phil let out a long breath. He hadn’t been home in a week, and hadn’t been home _on time_ for even longer. And Steve was there, waiting for him. Finally he blew out a long breath and got out his cell phone. “Hey, Steve,” he said glumly. “I just wanted to let you know; I’m going to be late at the office . . .”

An hour later he was finally home. Well, for a given value home, meaning an apartment he leased that he rarely got to visit. At least he was coming home to Steve, who’d just moved in a month ago. And Steve was—

As he opened the door, Phil gaped. Steve was standing in front of him in a frilly apron, lacy stockings, and . . . not much else. He even had on lipstick—a pearl pink that accentuated his full lips. He was holding a tumbler of scotch and smiling. “Best shut the door behind you,” Steve said. “I'm not exactly dressed for the cold.”

Phil did just that. “Sorry I’m late,” he managed. 

Still smiling a rather seductive smile, Steve handed him the glass. 

“ _Really_ sorry,” Phil blurted. 

Steve laughed. “It’s okay. I know what a rough day at the office is like.” And it had been a rough day at the office and out of the office as well—Phil had a bandage above one eyebrow. “Why don’t you sit down?” Steve suggested. 

Dazed, Phil allowed Steve to lead him to an armchair. He sank down into the soft leather and took an absent sip at his scotch. The lights were dim. Even though their apartment was small, it was perfect for them; older, stately, quiet and filled with antique, dark wood panelling. He should be feeling calmer, starting to unwind after a day of shooting and punching and making wisecracks and drafting paperwork, but Steve had him all keyed up, looking like some sort of cross-dressed version of Donna Reed. 

As if reading his mind, Steve murmured, “You’re still all tense.” He walked around behind the chair and Phil stiffened; he’d developed an intense dislike of having people behind him. But then Steve reached down and began to rub his neck and shoulders. After a few moments, Phil let out a long breath.

“It’s good to be home. This is nice.” 

“Does that feel good?” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

Still smiling, Steve slipped around the chair and knelt before Phil. “I want to make you feel good,” he whispered. He slipped one of Phil’s loafers off, and then the other. Phil groaned as Steve lifted one foot and began massaging it. “Do you like that?” 

Phil hadn’t known that such an act could ever feel so sexual. “Yeah, I like that,” he said wryly. 

Steve’s smile was all innocence, but Phil knew him better than that. There was a flipside to Captain America, a place where innocence went straight out the window and any dirty fantasy was up for discussion. This was one he’d wanted to try for a long time. Still, Phil hadn’t really expected this tonight. 

As Steve continued to knead the arch of one foot, Phil lifted the other and placed it in Steve’s lap. Steve moaned as Phil gently wiggled his toes. He could feel Steve’s prick, stiff behind the apron. Steve groaned and tried to rut, discreetly, against Phil’s foot. Phil hid a smile by taking another sip of his scotch. He was getting hard, as well. Seeing Steve kneeling in front of him definitely had his libido firing on all four cylinders. But he wouldn’t say so; he wanted to draw this out. “Dinner almost ready?” he asked casually. 

Steve blinked prettily up at him. “Not for a little while,” he said. 

Phil set his drink aside. He undid his belt. “You’ll just have to keep me entertained,” he said with a grin. 

Looking sultry with his impossibly thick lashes lowered, Steve nuzzled the inside of Phil’s thigh. “Ready for duty,” he said in a throaty voice. 

Phil bit his lip hard as Steve began to kiss his way up and down Phil’s rapidly-hardening shaft. He knew what Steve wanted; he got off on the submissive thing. He liked role-play, loved pretending Phil was a superior officer or someone in power. Phil just liked pleasing Steve. But it was awfully, awfully difficult to maintain a cool demeanor when Steve Rogers was sucking your cock. The lipstick added an extra dimension of slickness that was really driving Phil out of his mind. 

Phil carded his hand through Steve’s hair, his hips beginning to rise and fall of their own accord. Steve made a soft noise and glanced up at him. Phil marvelled at the contrast between the hard jaw and the soft, pliable lips pursed against the head of his prick. Trying to cover his own desire to moan, Phil grabbed another gulp of scotch. He was beginning to feel dizzy from a combination of alcohol and desire. 

Steve sucked him dutifully, head bobbing, kneeling with sweet obedience between Phil’s thighs. 

Phil couldn’t take it anymore; he fisted his hand in Steve’s hair and yanked him back. “I want to fuck you,” he grated. “Now.”

Steve’s eyes kindled as he rose. “Here?”

Phil shook his head, then nodded to the dinner table over by the window. “There.”

Steve sashayed unsteadily over to the table, not well-practiced in the heels. He glanced over his shoulder at Phil, who reached out and pushed him down, bending him over the table. 

Phil tugged his panties down. The pink lace, taut between Steve’s thighs, was shimmied down just below the man’s dangling balls. Phil’s own cock throbbed at the sight. Steve’s lacy stockings only came up to his thighs; they wouldn’t be in the way. “Hold your apron out of the way,” Phil barked. 

Steve gave a shiver of pleasure and did as he was told. 

The table was partly set for dinner. Steve had probably put some of it back in the kitchen when Phil called to say he’d be late. But Phil spotted the butter dish, and that was all he needed. He dragged a finger through the warm butter and inserted it right up Steve’s inviting ass.

Steve stiffened and gave a soft cry. 

“I’m going to fuck you _so hard_ ,” Phil grunted. He knew the super soldier didn’t need or want further preparation. He tugged his pants down and promptly slipped his cock into Steve’s hole with one long thrust. 

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, groaning. “Oh, _yes_.”

Phil began to fuck him roughly. Steve was so tight it was unbelievable. Phil grabbed one of his legs behind the knee, hoisting it up on the table. Steve was splayed over the wood like Sunday brunch, his prick pressed against the tabletop. 

“Please,” Steve begged. 

“You’re so good,” Phil grunted. “Fuck. So good. So fucking hot,” he added. 

Steve ran a trembling hand over his leg. “Feels so sexy,” he admitted. 

It was sexy. “Can’t believe I came home to find you wearing pink panties, just waiting to give me a glass of scotch and a blow job,” Phil panted. 

“Yes . . . yes . . . want to make you feel good,” Steve babbled. “Just do it. Just take me. Harder,” he pleaded. 

Phil took his shoulders for leverage, pounding Steve as hard as he could. The dishes rattled on the table. “That’s it . . . take it . . . take it just like that.”

“Wait—let me—” Then Steve brought his other leg up on the table, kneeling with his ass in the air. 

Phil couldn’t resist; he was on the table, after all. Taking that sweet ass with both hands, he began to eat Steve out, enjoying the noises of pure, pornographic desperation Steve made. 

“No—too much—I’m going to—I’m going to—” 

But Phil was a good judge of when Steve really was about to lose it, and drew off at the last moment. “Not yet. When I say,” he ordered. He positioned Steve and slowly inserted his cock into Steve’s body again, enjoying the long, shuddering exhale. Steve really was close; he was nearly hysterical now, begging Phil to let him come. 

“ _Please_ ,” he said, again and again. “I’ll be good, I swear,” he panted. But Steve was good—he was ever obedient in bed, and he wasn’t touching himself, wouldn’t dare as long as Phil hadn’t okayed it. 

Phil enjoyed the sweet constriction as long as he could. “A little more, baby,” he grunted. “Just give me a little—more.” Steve obligingly rocked back, impaling himself again and again as Phil grabbed silk-covered thighs with greedy hands. He licked Steve’s neck, reaching around to fondle Steve’s body. He ran his hands up and down Steve’s hard chest, slipping one hand into the apron to caress his pectoral. Steve was wild now; as much as he protested the way Phil looked at him with awe, he actually got off on being worshipped in bed. “So—fucking—perfect,” Phil groaned. 

Steve whimpered. His hair was in disarray, flopping down over his sweaty forehead. “Please touch me, sir,” he begged. “Please.”

Grinning, Phil finally reached down, sliding his hand up and down Steve’s inner thigh. The man had fucking shaved; it was ridiculous how hot that was. He played with the top of the lace, slipping a fingertip beneath the elastic. Steve was almost crying in frustration.

“The—the casserole—will burn,” he stuttered. 

It nearly killed the moment, but Phil had to chuckle. “Not a very convincing argument, I’m afraid,” he said coolly. Years of S.H.I.E.L.D. training had finally paid off. He could keep his composure even now. “But it’s okay. Daddy will make you feel better,” he purred in Steve’s ear. He reached down and took that massive prick and began to stroke it. 

Steve cried out, resting his forehead on the table. Phil stroked him, harder and faster, feeling Steve’s whole body begin to tense in anticipation. Steve’s cries became more needy. “Please—please,” he croaked. 

Phil gave his eager cock another rough tug. “Come for me,” he ordered. “Now.”

Steve groaned, climaxing all over the table. Phil waited a few moments, milking him, before pulling out. 

He worked his own prick over, one hand on Steve’s thigh. 

“So good,” Steve murmured tiredly. “Sooooo good.”

Phil allowed himself to savor the sight of Steve, delicate panties now dangling from one ankle, thigh-high tights torn where Phil had gotten overexcited, skirt rucked up and blemished with come. Phil clenched his jaw as he came, spurting over Steve’s perfect ass. 

Steve hummed, a sleepy little noise. “I should clean up.”

Just then, they heard the front door opening. They looked at each other, mortified, before stumbling into the kitchen and holding the door shut. 

“Who the hell is that at this hour?” Phil demanded. 

“Hey, anybody home?” they heard Tony call out. He had a key—for emergencies, ostensibly. Phil made a mental note to discuss the definition of emergency with him later, or possibly just to take the key away and give it to Pepper instead.

Steve was blushing furiously now. He had lipstick smeared across his chin, ripped lacy tights, and a ruffly apron smeared with his climax. Phil was still relatively composed, but nosy Tony Stark would probably figure something out.

“We’re in the kitchen!” Phil barked. 

“I’m hitting a club. It’s Friday night! Why don’t you two come along?” Tony asked. Phil could hear him pouring himself a drink in the other room. “You guys never do anything fun. Live a little,” he suggested. 

“No, thanks,” Steve called back weakly. 

“We’re, uh, busy,” Phil told him through the door. 

“Busy? Doing what?”

“I have a casserole in the oven!” Steve shouted. “And it’s almost ready, so I’m afraid we can’t join you tonight, Tony.”

Tony blew a raspberry. “Fine,” they heard him say. “You know, you really should try new things once in a while. You’re so fucking boring. _Casserole_ ,” he repeated in disgust.   
“What is this, the 1950s?” 

“Sorry, Tony,” Steve said. “See you around.”

“Yeah, right. Later!” They heard Tony leave. 

Steve let out a long breath and leaned back against the door. “That was close.” He smiled at Phil. “I have your dinner ready, Mr. Coulson,” he said in a teasing voice. 

Phil grinned and kissed him. “Oh, yeah? And what am I getting for desert?” 

Steve winked and opened the fridge door. There was a large bowl of freshly whipped cream. “Anything you want,” he said. 

Phil turned the oven off. “I’m hungry for dessert right now,” he said. 

Steve bent over to get out the whipped cream and Phil smiled at the sight. 

It was good to be home.


End file.
